


Show Me Your Teeth

by Devolucao



Category: Bleach
Genre: Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, Kinky, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devolucao/pseuds/Devolucao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is work, and he's doing more of it than usual; but it's worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me Your Teeth

Renji pelts after him, leaving a snake-path of angry puddles in his wake. "You think I'm just gonna let you get away with that? Hey!"

Wind tears the laughter from Ichigo's throat. "You thought I was joking!" It's warm for late October, but breezy, the cotton-batting sky not so much threatening rain as offering it. Holding it over their heads like a promise contingent upon something.

Renji's sneakers slap the pavement like wet fish, and this only makes Ichigo laugh harder. He's waited all day for this, biding his time, mapping out his route of attack: the narrow cut-through where Urahara stacks his empty palettes, through which he'd spied Renji carrying out the garbage. He'd made sure the water was good and warm--piss temperature for just that added bit of insult--the single filled condom wobbling jelly-like and alive in his palm, and waited for Renji to straighten.

He'd let fly with a whoop, nailed Renji perfectly between the shoulder blades of his t-shirt skinned back, then skidded off around the shop, Renji in blazing hot pursuit.

They manage one mad circuit before Ichigo catches his foot on a loose paving stone and trips, flailing to catch himself.

Renji slams into him at full steam, fetching him ass over teakettle into the grass, where they begin tearing at one another like starving dogs, climbing and grappling for purchase. They kiss with teeth, bruising each other's lips, scraping their tongues and knuckles and elbows and hipbones raw.

And still Ichigo laughs, because the real joke of it was: he hadn't used one of the condoms he'd bought with his own money--too few, he realized in retrospect--but one of the free ones from the clinic. It was pink and smelt of bubblegum; and now so does Renji.

He shoves Renji to his feet and fetches him backwards into the junk-filled storage room, mashes him up against the wall and sucks the spit from his mouth. "You smell..." he gasps, "like a pack of trading cards."

"hhwhat?" Renji slurs.

Ichigo reaches up to yank at a stray piece of his braid. "A pack of trading cards," he growls. "They come with...n-never mind. You smell sweet!"

"Not the word I woulda used," Renji hisses, giving Ichigo's much shorter hair an answering yank. "Did you bring rubbers?"

"Yeah, in my pocket," he breathes against Renji's throat. "Where can we go?"

"Up the stairs--there's a spare bedroom." He then claps a warning hand over Ichigo's mouth. "People are still around at this hour, so we can't be too noisy."

Ichigo nods urgently and grabs a fistful of Renji's shirt. He drags him stumbling out of the storage room, into the breezy, spitting air, up creaking wooden steps, onto worn wooden decking. They meet there with a smack and crash bodily through the unlocked door, lip-locked and tripping over one another's feet.

"Shut it," says Ichigo, sliding his hands around the hard crest of Renji's pelvis, down the dip of his lower back, and into the warm gap of his waistband. He sinks his finger pads into the cooler flesh below, tugging Renji into him and resuming his seat between surging, denim rough thighs.

Renji mule kicks the door, rattling it back into its frame. He laughs and stumbles back, catching hold of Ichigo's belt-loops. "I want you to fuck me," he says, spitting it out matter-of-fact like. "Be as rough as you want. I don't care if it hurts."

Ichigo grabs hold of Renji's wrists, tugging him up close again, guiding one hand down the crotch of his jeans and just jamming it there. He's fairly thrumming now--cock friction hard and over sensitized. He laughs nervously. "Is that any way for the esteemed Vice Captain to talk?"

Renji gives him a quick squeeze, fairly jerks him up on his toes. "The esteemed Vice Captain talks however the hell he wants to talk," He says. "Now, shinigami representative, I want you to take out that fat pink dick of yours--" another, sharper squeeze. "And fuck me in half."

Ichigo makes an unintelligible noise, a grunt, and manages to fish the small bottle of lube, along with a pair of wrapped condoms from his pocket. He tosses them carelessly onto the bed and grabs for the front of Renji's shirt, practically ripping the buttons off in his haste to get the man naked.

The sounds of breathing and the deliberate whisper of fabric against skin are incredibly loud in the small space. Ichigo can hear his own pulse, his own hammering heart. He can see gray watery daylight shimmering through the curtains, and suddenly this is way more present, way more real than their past several times. Because it's the middle of the day. Because if it weren't a Saturday, he'd be in school, or he'd be skipping school. Because his friends are probably wondering where he is right now. Because he doesn't sense even a little reiatsu from Renji like this. There's just his warm, human body, his slick skin, the quick catch of his lips and tongue over and over Ichigo's mouth.

This is real. He still smells like bubblegum, though a little less with every deep inhale, and Ichigo can't stop trying to get past it. He wants to sink deep into every pore of Renji and just experience him. (Consume him.) Suck greedily at his throat until he can't tell whose voice it is moaning low, hungry...god damn it!

"Easy," Renji murmurs, shoving him backwards onto the mattress. Yeah, right, easy. He shucks his jeans with a business-like shimmy, then kicks them aside. His tight designer briefs follow, and he slinks his way over top Ichigo, grinning and feral like he could just eat him alive.

It makes his hairs stand on end. Makes Ichigo scared how much he likes it like this: on his back, out of control, free from any say in the matter. He does the fucking, sure, but Renji does the taking.

"I love it," he laughs, lazily stroking Ichigo's stomach, dipping past his waistband, lovingly palming his cock. "That idiot look on your face. I put that look there, Ichigo. I did! Say it."

Ichigo bridles. "Fine talk when you're gonna be wearing that same look in about--five--ten minutes!"

"Wanna make it two?" Renji grins broadly. "I oughta come all over that idiot face right now," he growls. "That's what I oughta do, Kurosaki." He pounces, swinging roughly astride Ichigo's waist and scooting forward, cock bobbing lazily between them, the dewy pink head unfurling from its hood like some obscene bloom. A rose is a rose is a rose.

Ichigo wouldn't mind sucking him off like this, but he hasn't got the nerves to say so. He's a nice boy. Nice boys don't talk that way.

And Renji is not a nice boy. "You want it? My come on your face." He reaches out and jabs a finger at Ichigo's forehead, then pulls back and flicks him sharply. "Target acquired," he chuckles. "Firing!"

Ichigo hauls off and whacks him across the inside of the thigh. He does it much harder than intended, but no way he's backing off now. "You come when I say you do," he orders. "Got that?"

"Or else what?" Renji gives himself a slow, indolent tug; lazily thumbing the flared corona and hissing to himself.

"Or else I'm not gonna fuck you." He hauls off again and slaps Renji's other thigh, palm stinging from the force of it. "Or else--I'm not gonna suck it!"

"So suck it," Renji says, tongue tip snapping crisply on that last syllable. He leans up on his knees and offers his cock like a prize. Like god's gift to the world, and Ichigo just wants to slap him again.

"I didn't hear please." Damn it, he's not going to let Renji see him squirm. "I don't hear you begging."

"The esteemed Vice Captain does not beg." Renji cocks his hand like a gun, training it down Ichigo's face, his throat, and finally along his left pec.

"Don't you dare flick me again," Ichigo warns, and in fact means it. "It's annoying."

Renji flicks him. A sharp white-blue shock across his nipple, a red-hot surge that shoots straight down to his cock. Too much, too soon.

"I told you!" He doesn't hit Renji this time, but shoves at him just hard enough to get his point across. "I don't like that."

"Sorry," Renji says sheepishly.

"Not good enough." And as much as Ichigo hates being flicked, a properly cowed Renji is almost worth the price. "I want a formal apology."

Renji bows over him, body blocking out what's left of the light, and snarls in his face. "This dog most humbly begs your forgiveness."

"Very good, Lieutenant."

Another, softer snarl, and Renji's got Ichigo's wrists trapped fast at his sides. "Don't make me start second-guessing this, Kurosaki."

Ichigo squirms against him, cock trapped between vise-like thighs, grinds up forehead to forehead. "Tell me you want it," he says, laughing. "Say please."

"Please," Renji whispers, easing his grip enough to make space for Ichigo's hand. "Suck it."

He lets go and leans up and Ichigo does. Uses Renji's cock as a leash, tugging to reign him in and shut him the hell up. Sucks him kneeling up with his fist as a guard, four fingers screwed around the base, just enough of his lips and tongue and spit to make Renji shudder and go all jelly-like, wobbling warmly against him, then he stops.

Renji's watching him with a curious mix of pure fuck-drunk lust and adoration, reaching down to stroke his cheek with a callused thumb. He slips out and lets Ichigo nuzzle the dewy cock-head, lets him tug and fondle, his own personal toy, then bows over him again. "Fuck me," he murmurs. "Just like we did last time."

Ichigo nods against him.

They empty the entire bottle of lube between the two of them, and waste one condom in Renji's haste to get the damn thing unwrapped. "It's fine," he hisses, reaching back to grab hold of Ichigo's cock and shifting to line himself up. "You ready?"

Ichigo levers up to meet him and it's nothing he'd ever call pretty or perfect: a lot of fits and starts, and Renji is far too tense from wanting it too much, but Ichigo manages to coax him down--from the ledge so to speak--manages to push past his defenses and slowly push his way inside. He feels incredible, still; fits like a fucking glove. The rhythm comes like second nature, rocky and imperfect, but Renji's not about to let that matter.

He braces a hand against Ichigo's shoulder and starts moving countermeasure to his thrusts, shallow at first, then deeper, shuddering and shoving him down into the mattress. Lunging and grasping and looking down at him with glazed, gone eyes; with slack, drooling lips and bared teeth. "So good," he whimpers. "Just like that, Ichigo. Harder."

Ichigo makes a face and tells him, between gasps, what a crazed lunatic he looks like right now.

"Hah," Renji huffs, rolling his cock around in his palm, coaxing it fully erect. "You should see...your face, then."

Ichigo surges up against him, rocking the bed on its frame, knocking loose a spray of sweat droplets and pre-ejaculate. This is work, and he's doing more of it than usual; but it's worth it.

"You look like you wanna bite my head off," Renji says snappily, lips curling into a feral grin. "Like you wanna fuck me with your teeth." He bucks up into his hand and contracts hard around Ichigo's cock, all hot and tight and shivery.

All too much. His breath smokes out on a feathery little moan, soft sounds counter to the hardening planes of his face, the little vein in his forehead that pops out when he's concentrating. His pulse is like a static charge, a throbbing polymeter playing merry hell around Ichigo's cock and in his hand. He's not going to wait to come. He's going to make Ichigo make him, or else.

"Shit." Ichigo sinks his fingers into the crease of Renji's flexing haunches, like he could just pry him apart, or hold him together. He knows how strong Renji is; his body remembers with fading scars and newer bruises, with cramping thighs. But right now, he sees only vulnerability, and the thought scares him more than he wants to articulate. Turns him on harder than anything ever has before.

"Do it," Renji whimpers. "Do it to me."

He comes. A white hot spark that abrades his senses, smashes his will, reaches straight back to his ancient lizard brain and yanks out something vital.

The only thing that keeps him from screaming down the damned roof is Renji's hand clapped firmly over his mouth. He panics for a moment as his lizard brain convinces him he can't breathe, and he struggles, raking long scratches down Renji's thighs. Pink furrows that will sting more than they mark.

"Do it now," Renji groans, balled up quaking like he's about to break apart. "Slap me."

Ichigo slaps him across the face, amazed he's even got the coordination left.

Renji comes with a raw gasp. "Ahh--ahn--you fucker--" He comes grinding and steel tense, and somehow manages to aim right at Ichigo's chin, right over the hand gagging his mouth.

Ichigo growls, or at least he's sure that sound's come from him, and rams the sharp points of his hips into Renji's ass. He's still hard, but it's gone beyond the point of pleasure and become painful. He can't speak, or he'd be snapping Renji's name, howling that he wants to fuck him apart, make his soul too sore to walk tomorrow.

Renji mouths something wordless and breathless that snaps Ichigo, more or less, back to his senses. "Urahara," he warns. Then carefully, he lets his hand slip free of Ichigo's face, leaving a slick smear in its wake that he tenderly wipes away. "Didn't get any in your eye, did I?"

No. Ichigo shakes his head. He reaches down to help Renji disengage, and winces at the matching hand prints on his thighs, the pink wheel on his face. "Renji--"

He cuts him off with a kiss, mouth pulp soft like its been tenderized, and this only serves to make things worse.

He did this to Renji. Ichigo did this, with his hand. He'd liked it, too. "Renji." He's brushing the marks with his thumbs, touching and soothing because he's not sure he's got the nerve, or the right, to apologize.

"It's okay," Renji murmurs, smoothing his hair from his forehead. "That was good. I liked it."

"Are you--?"

"Yeah, I promise."

They lie stuck together for a while afterwards and listen to the rain. Ichigo stirs groggily between Renji's legs, rolls onto his back with a groan, and gingerly strips the condom off.

"Don't just throw that anywhere," Renji mutters.

Ichigo pulls a face. He pours himself out of bed and staggers around briefly, before locating a wastebasket and a box of tissues. He brings the latter back to bed with him and pulls out a bunch of them, tenderly tucking them into Renji's upturned palm.

"Thanks," Renji says, gingerly reaching down to wipe himself clean.

Ichigo watches him a moment, splayed out on the bed like that, eyes half-lidded and distant, and wonders what happens next. "You okay?" He asks.

Renji nods and quietly rolls up to sit cross-legged at the center of the bed, wall supporting his back. He looks brutalized and beautiful, and it makes Ichigo hate himself more than just a little bit. "Come back over here," Renji says.

Something in his expression tells Ichigo this is not up for debate. He pads back to bed and leans into Renji's outstretched arms. "Seriously," he murmurs, nosing into the thick tangle of Renji's hair, stroking the back of his neck. "You okay?"

"Don't be foolish," Renji mutters.

That's what I am, thinks Ichigo, a fool. He sighs and says "Very well, Lieutenant."

He doesn't flinch when Renji flicks him this time, a sharp spark like a fuse running up his belly. Though he does wince a little. "Tch!" Though he's not above smacking Renji's hand away.

It's still well worth the price of a smile.

~end~


End file.
